


Salted

by robotboy



Series: Butterscotch [15]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: A fluffy PWP dedicated to Flint's tum.





	Salted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FarahBobbi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarahBobbi/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday Farah! Thank you for all your support during this series.

Silver has a problem. The problem is that when he has his hands full, he can’t sign. On the bright side, what his hands are currently full of is Flint. Flint is sprawled out on the bed, scrabbling at Silver’s hair while Silver buries his face in Flint’s torso. He’s shoved Flint’s shirt up and is grabbing every bit of skin he can find.

There had been some plan to get changed and go out. But Silver had bent over to remove his socks and Flint, without seeming to realise he was doing it, had hooked a finger into the deep vee of Silver’s t-shirt. Silver had looked up to realise Flint was happily ogling. That had led to Silver’s attempt to remove Flint’s shirt and now this, Flint squirming underneath him as Silver tries to mash his face into Flint’s skin.

Silver spreads his hands around Flint’s hips and clutches, feeling possessive. There’s just about enough of a love handle to grab, and Silver grins against Flint’s skin as he squeezes. Flint bucks into his grip, and Silver runs his fingers through the hair of Flint’s belly, feeling the slight paunch of it and smothering Flint with kisses. Flint starts wriggling, pulling Silver’s hair tighter. Silver flings his hand in the direction of Flint’s face, signing _ILY_ with it and hoping Flint can see. Flint catches his hand, so Silver looks up at him.

_Really?_ Flint asks, face filled with apprehension.

Silver plants his chin on Flint’s chest and asks: _Why wouldn’t I like it?_

_I’m not as young as I was,_ Flint fidgets.

_Nobody is as young as they were,_ Silver points out. _That’s how time works._

_You’re just… so smooth,_ Flint brushes his fingers over Silver’s chest, making him shiver. _And jacked._

Silver chuckles. _Would you still like me if I wasn’t smooth and jacked?_

_Yes,_ Flint says firmly.

_Good,_ Silver shrugs. _Because I like hairy and squishy._

_Squishy!_ Flint repeats, turning bright red. Silver smiles enormously as the flush goes down to Flint’s chest. He noses the fluff there and signs: _I like this._

Then he gets lower, back to Flint’s belly, and announces: _I like this._

He clutches it for good measure, finding every bit of flesh soft enough to fit in his hands. He knows Flint likes being in his hands.

Then he unbuckles Flint’s belt and yanks the jeans down to expose his thighs. He signs, without looking away, _I love_ ** _these._**

The freckles are sparser here, stronger against Flint’s pale skin. Silver likes to think he knows each freckle personally.

He glances up at Flint’s cock, which is beginning to swell from the attention elsewhere. _I like this, too_.

Flint smirks at him. Judging by how dark his eyes are, he’s not so self-conscious anymore.

Silver could spend the whole evening mushing his face into Flint’s thighs, but he eventually progresses to mouthing Flint’s cock. Flint keeps toying with his hair, encouraging him, as Silver lavishes him in wet licks and sloppy kisses. It’s the kind of mellow, unhurried sex that Silver is learning to love. He rests his head on Flint’s hip, pumping Flint’s shaft with his hand and suckling the head as much as he can reach. He can feel the tremors under Flint’s skin, the warmth against his cheek, the tickle of Flint’s fingers on his scalp. He hums and it makes Flint shudder.

Flint pets his face clumsily, letting out a whimper of pleasure. Silver butts his head against Flint’s hand and starts to suck in earnest, resting his weight on Flint’s thigh to feel it flexing eagerly. Flint is musk and salt on Silver’s tongue, rough fingertips and soft belly on Silver’s face. Silver groans with his own delight, bearing down like he can press them both into the same space. Flint comes without warning and Silver swallows, smiling around the girth of him until Flint tugs him awaySilver nuzzles up to Flint’s navel, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Flint blinks at him, glassy-eyed.

_Still want dinner?_ he asks Silver, the corner of his mouth quirking.

_Absolutely,_ Silver crawls up to straddle him, giving Flint a filthy kiss. _There’s always room for dinner._


End file.
